Battlefield
by Idiot-The-Great
Summary: Now he'd just be England; not Britain, not The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, not Britannia, just England, if he'd still be there at all. Angsty, fluffy USUK oneshot.


**A/N: I know, I know, two in one day? That's madness! Have I gone mad? Maybe. No, here's the story; this one I really did write last night, the other one I wrote awhile ago and just finished editing. So yeah. This one is unbeta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes. **

**Warnings: A bit of angst, a bit of fluff, a bit OOC**

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The ground was cold and hard beneath thin grass and a dark sky. Dense fog blanketed the battlefield and the lifeless bodies that remain there. There wasn't a single noise; no birds, no rustling leaves, no whispers, nothing – until one lonely man drew in breath.

Arthur opened his eyes slowly and grimaced. The side of his face was pressed into the ground and his entire being ached, with the exception of a sharp pain in his twisted arm. He could feel blood and dirt caked on his face and clothes and in his hair, and the smell of death seemed to seep into his core.

Sitting upright, emerald eyes took in their surroundings and Arthur felt the tug of heart-breaking loss; all of his soldiers, _his men_, were gone, and he didn't save them.

Another defeat. Arthur didn't know how much longer he could last.

There was no rain this time, and no other soldiers there. There were no muskets, and no brave blue eyes looking down at him, but Arthur couldn't help but see the similarities in the situations.

He's been betrayed by family.

He should have expected that Scotland and Ireland would object sooner or later to his rule. It just didn't make sense; he was so small, yet had so much power, even though his days of being a world superpower were long gone. That position was filled by someone much more capable now.

He supposed he never should have expected them to be the "United Kingdom" forever. Now he'd just be England; not Britain, not The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, not Britannia, just England, if he'd still be there at all.

Alone in the cool darkness, Arthur allowed himself to cry. What if this was the end? What would the world be like without him? Would it be any different at all?

He dreaded the thought that, maybe, the other nations wouldn't notice his absence, or simply wouldn't care. Not even, dare he say it, Alfred. Alfred wouldn't care, and that stung the most.

It was night now, and Arthur sat in the same place, shivering, and unable to move. He closed his eyes, and he could feel warmth beckoning him from just beyond his consciousness. A place that he knew, somehow, would be simpler and better. He wouldn't have a care in the world.

Just as he reached out for that warmth, a twig snapped, and his eyes flew open. He remembered quite suddenly where he was, how cold it was, and that he was supposed to be alone.

Arthur squinted in the darkness, looking for movement or anything that could have made a noise. Another twig snapped behind him.

His heart sped up when he realised just how defenseless he was; surely no one would attack him now, it was most unhonourable! But he heard footsteps now, quickly approaching from behind.

Arthur scrambled to move away, but only succeeded in falling back onto his side. His breaths came in short and shallow gasps and his body shrieked in protest at every attempt at moving.

The footsteps came closer.

In almost a panic, Arthur shouted a raspy, "W-who's there?"

The footsteps stopped, and Arthur heard the rustling of fabric.

Suddenly, there was a bright light shined in his eyes, and he flinched away, holding up his working arm to block it.

"Arthur? Dear God…" A familiar voice whispered.

Green eyes widened, and Arthur looked up to see Alfred, who had lowered his flashlight.

Arthur scowled. "What are you doing here, America?" He snapped, his voice still painfully hoarse.

Alfred flinched, but still gave a small smile. "I'm here to save your sorry ass, of course. I'm the hero, you know."

Arthur spluttered for a moment in which Alfred simply winked. As Arthur was about to protest, Alfred shoved the flashlight in Arthur's face, who, by instinct, took hold of it. Alfred used his free hands to scoop the smaller nation into his arms, one under his knees the other supporting his back.

Arthur felt his face flush instantly and he hit the American's arm with the flashlight. "Y-you bloody idiot! Put me d-down at once!" Arthur stuttered and flailed, but Alfred held steadfast.

He sighed, only hitting Alfred halfheartedly every so often – he was too tired to complain.

"America…?"

"Hm?"

Arthur exhaled, staring at the fur on Alfred's jacket aimlessly.

"What are you doing?"

Alfred slowed down to look at Arthur with a frown. "I'm helping you, of course!"

Rolling his eyes, Arthur shook his head.

"I meant why. _Why_ are you helping me, America?"

"Alfred."

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, "what?"

"Alfred. Call me Alfred."

Alfred looked down at him blankly, as if his reasons were obvious, his blue eyes slightly pleading.

"Erm… fine. Why are you helping me, Alfred?"

At this, the American smiled. He winked at Arthur.

"Just 'cause."

Arthur's shoulders slumped, and he glared up at Alfred.

"Because why?"

Alfred didn't answer at first, seemingly thinking about his response. Arthur waited, his eyebrows raised, anticipating another half-arsed response.

"Because you were giving up and I…" Alfred's voice was quiet, and his blue eyes darted around the empty lands away from Arthur. He was frowning slightly, and his eyebrows were drawn together. Arthur smiled as Alfred's face turned into a pout.

"And you can't give up! I, um… I…"

Arthur scoffed. "Oh bollocks, spit it out already!"

"Because I need you!"

Arthur was speechless, and Alfred looked away blushing. Wide green eyes stared as Alfred took a deep breath and nodded.

"It's true; you're the strongest person I know! And even though we fight a lot and stuff, I… I love you. A-and I'm not about to let you give up over this! My soldiers are coming to help you end this war! There are still so many things I need to tell you and so many things we need to do that I can't let it all end here." Arthur stared at Alfred, feeling the beginning of tears forming in his eyes. Why was he crying again?

"And even if you don't feel the same and never will… I don't care. Because I love you, and I always will, and I always have and nothing you can say will change my mind! So… there."

Alfred nodded once, his face a bright crimson even in the low light. His blue eyes still avoided Arthur as he focused on the ground in front of him.

Arthur could feel himself smiling and crying at the same time, shaking his head.

"You git."

Alfred finally looked down to see Arthur smiling, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Did he have a chance?

Alfred's question was answered when Arthur leaned up and pressed lips to his. Alfred easily supported Arthur's back and pulled him closer, trying not to hold too tight lest he hurt the Brit.

Arthur was warm, and still smelled like tea and parchment under all the battle grime. Alfred loved the way Arthur's slightly chapped lips moved over his own and the small gasp he emitted when his tongue flicked out to lick at his lips.

He felt Arthur trembling in his arms, and he pulled away. Arthur frowned slightly and quirked an eyebrow. Alfred just smiled, his blue eyes bright and happy in the dark.

"If you haven't noticed, Artie, you're hurt. I don't want to make it worse; I don't know my own strength, after all."

Arthur smirked. "No, you certainly don't. But you owe me, Alfred."

Alfred beamed at Arthur's blushing face and squeezed him none too gently, the Brit hissing in pain.

"You betcha' babe!"

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**Ending is... bleh.  
That was the first time I've actually written a 'kissing' scene. I hope it wasn't too strange.  
Reviews make me happy. :]**


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